Greg In ICU
Chapter 4

I didn't sleep well; I tossed and turned. Dark murky images swirl inside my head. I am not suspecious. I do no put any credence in Kimmy's words. What would possess her to say such a thing to me? If I had a "vision" of some catastophy to befall a friend, would I tell them? No, I would not. I would never bring such a message of doom to anyone who is percariously walking the razor's edge.

On my drive to the hospital, I can't release those words. It's spooky. I'm not superstious I remind myself. By the time I park the car tears are streaming down my checks. I call Angel, my "adopted" daughter and tell her "brother" is in the hospital. I break down and tell her Greg is on a respirator. I also tell her about Kimmy's prediction. Angel said she's leaving her work and she will be at the hospital.

I met Kristeen, Greg's morning caregiver and friend already in Greg's room.I am so glad to see her.

I am not prepared for the sight of my son. He looks so lifeless. His body does not move. He has a huge cylinder tube going down his throad and it's taped all around his mouth and nose. His lips are half taped and half sticking out at odd angles. He barely looks as if he is breathing. The machine is doing his breathing for him. As the morning moves on I notice there is no output in Greg's urinary bag. However, there are these plastic containers behind Greg filled with this pinkish, reddish, foamy stuff they suctioned from Greg's lungs. He had a lot of fluid in his lungs.

I call Melinda to come down to the hospital. It's not looking so good for Greg; I know she would want to be here. She is helping at the preschool, however, her thoughts are here. Kelly, another preschool Mom insists that Melinda come to the
the hospital and she will help Patty with the kids. I am so blessed by the "unsung heroes" that surround me.

How can I take Greg home, when he's released? I am fearful that I am inadequate to care for him. I didn't know he was this sick when we bought him in. It's a good thing we didn't wait for his scheduled appointment two weeks away. The nurses had said it's a good thing when Greg coughed up "crap." He was bringing it up out of his lungs they said. It's a good thing. It's a good thing that Greg knew he wasn't feeling any better after almost finishing all the antibiotics. He's the one that requested I make a Doctor's appointment.

I am told by the Doctors' that it's quite common for the body to rush to the most needed place of healing, his lungs, and the other bodily functions cease, to allow for the highest concentration of repair where it is needed. I am not to be alarmed.

Out of the room, out of Gregory's range of hearing, I tell Kristeen what Kimmy said. She tells me that a friend of Greg's emailed him and said to Greg that she dreamed she and Greg were in the hospital together as patients. She emailed Greg that she came out of the hospital alive but he didn't. She knew Greg was sick and fighting pheumonia. What kind of "friend" is this? Why am I listening to this? Why am I giving it any energy by repeating it? I am not superstitious. The hook is in me; I can't get it out.

Do these two know something I don't?
I know there is a real possibility that Greg could die. Am I in denial of this? Why are there words hitting me so hard. I am spooked.

I look at my son and my heart wrapes around him. My thoughts surround my son; if I have to let you go, I can muster up the strength to do this. However, at the same time I am selfish and I want you here. I can't imagine life without you. I love you so. You have bought such joy and many life lessons to your Mom. The greatest lesson you have brought me is to slow down. You have introduced me to Patience. I have learned much from my journey with Patience thanks to you. In so many ways you have been an inspiration to me. Your upbeat wonderful attitude, your sense of humor, your laughter. What would we do without our wheeling encyclopedia? When we want to know something we ask you and you never fail us.

You look so fragil.

Angel shows up. I can tell by her face that she is taken a-back by the appearance of Greg. She puts on her cheery face and takes one of Greg's hand's in her's. She talks words of encouragement to Greg.

As I watch the two of them memories flood me from the past. Angel was one of the CNA's at the convelescent home where Greg lived for three and a half years. Angel worked the 3:00p.m. to 11:00p.m. shift. When Angel came on I knew I could go home and sleep without worrisome thoughts seeping through the veil of sleep that night.
He was in compassionate care. There were other "angels," "unsung heros," that took wonderful care of Greg during this period.

After visiting for awhile Angel says she has to get back to work. She softly kisses Greg and I tell her I 'll walk her back to her car. When we are outside and walking towards the car we comment on the blossoms on the trees herelding in spring.

I ask Angel what she thinks Greg's prognosis is? She looks at me, and measuring her words well, says,

"Remember, Greg has had a wonderful life. He is loved. He is so supported by you and everyone. You have helped give him such quality of life."

We hug, bye for now. I go back into the hospital.

My daughter Melinda arrives; she breaks down when she sees her brother. I comfort her; we talk and we wait. The waiting is the worst; it drags out to eternity.

During the day, off and on, Greg comes in and out of consciousness. He spells out with his eyes that he wants to be shaved. No way we tell him, he has more tape and tubes around his face, he's on oxygen too, and he has all these round disks stuck to his chest, measuring heart beat etc. He's hooked up to so many monitors; we tell him forget the shave and bath; he's a human pincussion and we are not about to disturb any of it. He's not happy and stubbornly insists on a bath and a shave. The nurse can't believe he's coherent.

For the next three and a half days the routine is pretty much the same. Finally the diagnosis is in. He has aspiration pneumonia. We knew this all along; pneumonia is the only health issue that drops Greg flat; a Dr. once told us, this is how Greg will die. All the tests; all the lab work, the results are not news to us.

Kristeen, Tim and I do the rounds with Greg during the day. We all welcome a good night sleep to have the energy to carry on the next day. We are awarded the sleep because Greg is being sedated. I don't know what I would do without them; they make my load easier. Unsung heroes.

My daughter Melinda and Patty back at the preschool allows me to be at the hospital without worry. Unsung heroes.

Life goes on. It does doesn't it?

Gregory in ICU
Chapter 3

My son is in ICU in March of 2006. It is late. Tim and I are told that they are going to sedate Gregory for the evening. He will be asleep so we can go home. Usually, Gregory does not sleep in the hospital; he can literally stay awake for days. When one of us is with him then he might take little cat naps, however, he does not sleep through the night.

It is decided that Tim will stay with Greg until he is asleep and then he will go home. I decide to take a taxi home. It's been a long day and I am tired. I enter my home and immediately see that the red light is flashing on my phone letting me know that someone has called and left a message. Before I can check the messages the phone rings. I look at the clock it is midnight.
I nervously pick up the phone feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

"Hello"

"Hi, it's me Tim"

"I'm calling you to let you know that they have to interbate Greg. They need to put a camera down Greg throat and they think his air passages are clogged, so they will clear them. They don't want his lungs to collapse so they will interbate him and he will be heavily sedated though out the whole procedure."

"I'll be right there"

"No they don't want to come down. Greg won't know your here and they say he'll be out for several days"

"O.K. Tim. I'll get some sleep and then I'll be there at 7:00a.m. so that I can talk to the Doctor when he makes his rounds in the morning."

"Are you going home?"

"Yes."

"O.K. Tim, see you tomorrow afternoon at the hospital."

I take the phone into my living room and kick back in my oh so comfortable recliner chair. I am going to listen to my messages before going to bed. The first message is from my preschool assistant,Patty, letting me know that she can be at the pre-school for me at 6:30a.m..Whew, that's a relief. I give thanks to the Universe for bringing Patty to me. Whenever, I need her, she always comes through. I can be at the hospital early to talk to the Doctor and not worry about the pre-school. My daughter will be there to help her.

The next call is from an old caregiver dating back about three and a half years. Kimmy. Over a year and a half has gone by since we had heard from her. When she worked for my son, she worked part time, two days a week. Kimmy is very high energy, good hearted, and funny. She is a little petite blonde with blue eyes a and quick smile. She is about thirty-two years old. She is very witty and she can use that wit to cut you down to less than bite size pieces if you got on her wrong side. We had our moments, however, she mostly kept us very amused and laughing with her outlandish stories.

Kimmy was also a recoverying drug addict.

I believe in giving people an opportunity to exercise a second chance. She grew on us during the time when she worked for us. We genuinely loved Kimmy, she had a huge giving heart and there were times our sides ached from laughter from her antics.

For my Birthday she decided my bathroom needed painting. It did; however I wasn't up to all the mess and moving things out like the washer and dryer etc.

"Don't worry about the mess. I can handle it," she said.

Next, she told me to pick my color for the bathroom or she would pick it for me. I quickly picked a sandy peach color because I knew in time I wanted to create a beach theme and this would be the beginning. Well, Kimmy totally redid my bathroom and refinished the bathroom cabinets with some a product called "Restore A Finish." My cabinets looked brand new when she was done with them. My bathroom looked and smelled great.

Since Kimmy has been gone I have put a beach border around the walls, some beach decals and a beautiful print of a mermaid holding a baby mermaid to her chest. The bathroom theme is finished with beach towels hanging from the towel racks and a huge shell mobile, that was bought in Canada, hanging from one of the cornors. When I light my candles, put on my ocean mediation CD and sink into my salt bath I am at the ocean. I couldn't ask for a more tranquil
place to be in that moment. I anticipated the day when Kimmy would come by and see how beautiful the bathroom turned out.

When she left our employment she moved in with a new boyfriend; then there were a succession of boyfriends as she left one and moved in with another. We lost touch and there were no reply's to written emails.

Out of the blue, Kimmy called me; her voice was racing and high pitched; every other word was a four letter word in ordinary speech. She kept stressing that we had been heavy on her heart; she felt something was wrong. She asked if everything was all right. She also said she wanted me to meet her new boyfriend, the one she was going to marry. I told her I couldn't talk to her that moment because we were taking Greg to a Doctor's appointment; however, I would call her when I got back home. I did not know then, that I wouldn't get home till midnight.

So, I dial in my code number to retrieve my phone messages. The first one is from Kimmy and she asks me to call her. The next one is from Kimmy and so one for eight calls! However, each phone call escalated in the use of profanity. I was angry, furious. She is cursing me out for not calling her. Then comes the message that chills my blood.

"I had a dream about Gregory. He is not going to make it this time. You will be making funeral arrangements for him before the week is through."

I have voice messaging. You have to listen to the whole message before being given the option to delete or save it.

I was seething; my anger wanted to jump from my skin. I wanted to yell. Scream. Smash something. I wanted to punch her. Hard.

I hit the button that showed her number, actually the boyfriend's number,and punched, dial.
She answered. I screamed at her:

"What's wrong with you?"

"Are you on drugs?"

Hang up. She hung up!

I punched "dial" again.

She picked up and I lit into her again.

Hang up. She hung up again!

I punched "dial" again.

She pickes up and I say, "Kimmy?"

Silence. Nothing.

I hear a male voice in the background saying softly, "Talk to her Kimmy."

Kimmy voice is now child like. She sniffles and pleads with me not to be upset with her. She's crying that this past year and a half were bad. She whines at me how I don't understand all she's been though this past year. "It's been a bad year, a very stressful year," she sobs.

I'm not buying into her act.

"If it's been a bad, stressful year for you Kimmy, you have to take some responsibility for the choices you made." I say through clenched teeth.

I scream at her:

"Are you on drugs?"

"How dare you call me and tell me Greg is going to die?"

" How dare you call me and curse me out because I didn't call you earlier?"

"Don't you ever call this house again." My voice has reached a feverish pitch, that I can't ever recall hearing before. I am not a person who likes drama constantly swirling around me. I opt for serenity. I crave lightness, peace, contentment. I abhor fighting.

I bang down the phone.

The phone rings.

I do not pick it up.

It keeps ringing.

I go to bed.

March 2006, Chapter 2

Tim and I had received permission to be with Gregory in ICU. Our combined task was to stay out of the way of the Doctors and Nurses who deligently worked over Greg.

For years my son had a primary care doctor. Whenever Greg was in the hospital he always showed up and journeyed with us through Greg's bouts with pneumonia. His presence brought safety and deeply felt concern and a knowing that Greg was in the best of care. This past year, the wonderful doctor, our unsung hero, left and he was no longer Greg's doctor. As Greg's doctor he had given Greg his email address at the hospital. Greg could email him about his health and let the doctor know before he arrived about his concerns. This doctor still emails my sone today, even though he isn't his doctor anymore.

Now when Greg goes to the hospital there is no doctor that truly knows Greg. It is both frustrating and scarey.

I explained to one of the Doctor's that Gregory had been released exactly a week ago and that the attending physician at that time, I was not impressed with. I refered to him as "Mr. Stuffed Shirt," as I explained that when he made his rounds in the morning he stood at least two feet away from Gregory's bed, arms folded across his chest, and commenced to tell his interns the reason anyone in Gregory's condition ran a high temp., was either because he had a urinary track infection or an infection at his site, (Greg is a tube feeder). Neither was true. If he had read Greg's chart he would have seen that the urinary lab test was done the day before and it was negative. Also, there was no irritation around Gregory's site; he has never had an infection at his site area because we are so meticulous in Gregory's care. Knowing that his body is compromised in fighting infection we are all mindful of his care being careful to take the necessary percautions to keep him healthy.

"Dr Stuff Shirt" is a very distinguished looking man with salt and pepper hair, handsome chiseled face; however, when you asked a question he had a way of making you feel "stupid."
This was not just my opinion, the caregivers felt the same way; neither did we feel listened to when we tried to explain certain things to him to help him know Gregory better, so he would know what was in the range of norm and what wasn't.

After three days Gregory was sent home, the Wednesday before he was admitted into ICU. When the EMT's brought him in, I was taken aback because Gregory was on oxygen when they brought him into the house on the stretcher.

"Why is he on oxygen?" I asked.

"Isn't he on oxygen here?" the EMT's asked?

"No."

"Well we noticed his oxygen was a little low at the hospital; his oxygen stat was 92; it should range between 96 and 100."

"I was not told that there was anything abnormal about his oxygen stats." I replied.

I called the hospital; no one at the nurse's station knew anything; apparently Gregory's records had already been sent somewhere, none of the staff was on that was there when we left, so I got no where.

The EMT's talked to them while I was making Gregory more comfortable. When I came back out into the kitchen where they had just gotton off the phone, they were looking at each other and shaking there heads,as though in seeming disbelief. They told me to watch Greg and if he seemed lethargic or got any worse, call the hospital.

Now, Gregory was recuping from pneumonia. How was I to know the difference between normal weakness or if he was worse?

Oviously, Gregory got much worse for here we were in ICU. Gregory's doctor this time was a true gem. He was everything a doctor should be, compassionate and a listener. When he heard what had happened to us the previous week he called the person who deals with grievances to come and take my report of the incident. He heard me, he understood my frustration.

Tomorrow, I will write about our experiences in ICU.

March 2006, Chapter One

March 1994 will forever be etched in my memory bank for it is the month I almost lost my son, Gregory. He is a young man of thirty eight years today; at age 26, a single event forever changed our lives. In a twinkling, a blinking of the eye, my son had a blood clot go to the brain stem and in that instant all was taken. Well, almost all. All movement. Speech gone. Eyes that couldn't close; pupils that spun eerily. Within an hour, the Dr's told us, there would be a second swelling within the brain and he would be gone. The family gathered around Greg's bed; the priest gave the last rites. Gregory was conscious and knew what was going on. Soft crying and murmuring filled the room. An hour passed. Two hours passed. Three hours passed etc. throughout the longest night in history. Come morning Gregory was still with us, which, opened up a pandora's box of new decisions to be made.

March 2006 I came very close to losing my son, Gregory, again. He had bouts of pneumonia since last September and was in the hospital about every six weeks. When my son does leave this plane it will be because he is escorted by pneumonia. Well, in March we made another appointment for Greg to see his Dr. again. It was a week before that Greg had been released from the hospital and put on two antibiotics; the antibiotics were almost gone and Greg spelled out that he wasn't feeling any better.

Gregory's caregiver, and family friend, Tim, who has been with us for the past five years, and I get Gregory to the Dr. appointment. Picture this. We are in the inner waiting room, we have paid our dues in the outer waiting room already, and we are now expecting to see the Doctor
come through the door. Gregory started coughing non-stop in the outer waiting room; so we were ushered into the inner waiting room. Greg is coughing bad and "stuff" is coming out of his nose and mouth. Tim and I go through a box and a half of kleenex. Then comes this weird sound, like a car back-firing over and over or a car alarm going off repeatedly. Tim looks at something flashing on the wall and says it a fire alarm drill. At the same time of his announcement someone comes to the room and says we have to leave the room, follow her. She leads us through a maze of corridors to the stairewell where we are planted. Greg's in a wheelchair, we can't use the elevator, we are on the third floor. Meanwhile Gregory's body is racked in coughs. Finally we get back to the inner room and the Doctor comes in. She takes one look at Gregory and says she's admitting him to the hospital. His oxygen is checked; it reads 72; normal is 96 to 100.

Gregory is taken to the hospital; he's on the fifth floor. I am following the hospital bed that has my son in it and the orderlies are wheeling him past the nurses' station and way down to the end of this corridor. A new Doctor comes in. Gregory had been hooked up to ten liters of oxygen, yet, he couldn't hold a steady oxygen level. It kept dropping. We were't in the room more than ten minutes when the Doctor said she was sending Gregory to ICU. He needed more care than what they could give him and he was too far away from the nurses station. Gregory was whisked away again with Tim and I in hot pursuit. Through long corridors we went again, in and out of elevators. Finally, we arrived at our destination.

My son cannot speak. However, he is cognitive; he understands everything you say to him; he has an incredible memory and he communicates through a eye blinking system that lets you know what his needs are. He also feels physical pain. Most quadreplegics cannot feel your touch, or a hot object placed on their skin. They do not feel the shower water on their body. Gregory feels pain. It has literally been a life saver when Greg could communicate to us his not feeling well; it has prevented some sicknesses from taking hold.

In ICU we are told that we cannot be in there. We are too wait in the waiting area until called. I explain that there is someone always with Gregory, either a caregiver or myself, to interpret for him. He spells out whole sentences using an eye blink system. Amongst strangers, and expecially in a hospital setting, communication would be so painstakingly slow. There wouldn't be time to communicate. I explain that someone is always with Greg in the hospital so he can let us know if something is wrong.

Head Nurse On Duty says, "No" "We will have to leave."

I turned to Gregory and asked: "Gregory do you want someone here in the room with you?"

Gregory blinked his eyes "up" for yes.

End of conversation. We got to stay.


note: I have decided to break this in chapters; I'll post what I have written; I'll be called back to write more regularly knowing it is not finished. This is going to take longer than I thought and I'm tired tonight.

Unsung Heroes

In my preschool the children have been talking about their heros. The hero pendulum swung back and forth from Spiderman to Superman. One little boy, Jaedon said:" I'm going to grow up and be the real Spiderman and really, webs will come from my hands."

"My hands and feet will stick to buildings and I will climb tall, tall buildings without a ladder!"
Jaedon excitedly told us. The magic of his words were, that, he really, really believes this.

These children are four and five years old; my grandson, Greg, who is now ten, at their age thought he wanted to be Zorro. Zorro was his hero from about age three to six or seven. There wasn't anything that Zorro couldn't do. My daughter, Melinda worked an evening shift and I watched my grandson for her. On the nights I watched him we had to watch the movie Zorro over and over. A lot of the scenes didn't register with him, however the dashing sword fighting scenes did. Also, the dance scenes with Katherene Zita Jones. I had to play her part as we danced around the living room. He also wanted to act out the passionate kiss on the mouth at the end of their dance and was quite upset with me when I said a kiss on the cheek would do.

"A Nana and a grandson do not kiss like that." I told him.

"You have to save those special kisses for the one you marry." I told him. It was the best explanation I could conjur up on such short notice. It seemed to pacifiy him for the moment.

I have been contemplating what my definition of a hero is. How do I define a hero?

Today's news hit home; actually, I felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. There are so many heros and for the most part they go unnoticed; living each day performing the duties of what needs to be done and doing it.

I saw the faces
of the civilian survivors
Of the bombings in Beirut
And southern Lebanon.

Peace Keepers trying to bring
some measure of hope
some measure of usefulness
a safe haven beckoning
to the weary masses.
No threat to anyone.

Bombs dropped.

I saw the anguished faces of the mothers.
I am a mother.
I saw the wounded children
being brought out on stretchers.
Crying
Shaking and trembling
Terror stricken
Innocents
I have children.

Tonight they are victims
They will become heros
In their daily, yearly battle to rise
Above this senseless violence.

The rescuers
They are heros
As they risk
life and limb
in searching out the living.

The Doctors
The Interns
The EMT's
The Nurses
The CNA's
The Drivers
The Teachers
The List Goes On
All Heroes.

The one who holds a hand
Offering words of encouragement.
Unsung hero.

The one who carries
A broken body
Wispering, Crooning
Willing it to stay alive.
Unsung hero.

I am shaken to my most
inner most depth
On some level
There is a connectivness
There is a unity of spirit
There is a longing...

To bring this even closer to home
In our own back yard.
Where are the heros?

There is the Mother
Whose inner wisdom told her,
Her's was a greater Love
That gave her child up for adoption.
She is an unsung hero.

There is the man
Who wholesomely embraced
The Fatherless child
Creating memories filled with love.
The man died of cancer.
When asked, if he could spend the day
With anyone, anyone at all
Who would it be?
The child named the name of the deceased.
That man is an unsung hero.

The quiet
behind the scenes
hospice workers
who bring calmness and order
to a bereaved family.
They are unsung heros.

To the families
That quietly care for disabled loved ones
Moving mountains in their name
Never knowing their true strength
Until this life experience drew it out
They are unsung heros.

To the struggling Mother's
And Father's
With children
Wearing society's labels
Not fitting in...
The nests made for them.
They are all unsung heros.

To the adult
Whose demons of the past
Threaten to crush you.
Yet, you get up each day
You deal with whatever comes
You are an unsung hero.

Those who tirelessly
give of themselves
to care for our four legged
"brothers" and "sisters"
And all other creatures
Great and Small.
Unsung heros.

To all the unsung heros I didn't mention
I raise you up. Know your unsung hero status.
Hold your head high.

Who are your heros?

LOSS

I am going to write during the next few blogs of mine about loss. I am struggling within and through the writing I hope to find a higher ground, to raise my energy to embrace and walk through whatever challenges might cross my path on this my life journey.

About two months before the weekend of the "Writing Life" with Jennifer Lauck workshop I had been going through some emotional issues that were vague to me because I was trying to "stuff" them. The workshop slowed me down and created the safe space to allow these issues to emerge and be named.

I had been struggling with my sister's diagnosis of breast cancer; the news was received while I was shopping at Costco. My sister lives in Connecticut. I was in Costco, December 2005, when my cell phone rang. By the time I had dug it out of my purse, it had quit ringing; however, I saw the name and number belonged to my sister, Sandra. Costco was too noisy for me to call her right back; however, I made a mental note that I would call her when I got to my car because the thought ran through my mind that, " she never calls me on my cell; this must be important."

When I was done with my shopping and had the groceries loaded, I called her before starting up the car. Something must be going on in the family for her to call me mid-day and especially on my cell phone.

Me: "Hi Sis. Saw that you called; I'm at Costco. It was too noisy in there for me to hear you so I'm calling you from my car."

Me: "So, what's happening?"

Sandra: "I have been dignosed with breast cancer." Her voice broke as she continued.

She commensed to tell me about the diagnosis; the treatment; the operation to come. Dates for starting this treatment and ending treatments etc.... etc....

I heard nothing, beyond the word "Cancer" with a capitol "C."

My mind was flooded with images of friends and family that had succumbed to cancer since my childhood. My heart was pounding; it was December, I hadn't started my car, yet, I was perspiring. As a child, the only thing I knew that people died of was cancer. As a child, I empowered that word, and the word cancer had the power to immobilize me. I was frozen.

I heard my sister softly crying.

Then, I heard my voice:

"Don't worry Sis"

"The technology of today is phenomenal"

"Your going to beat this thing."

Out of my mouth fell words of encouragement, that I didn't really feel. I was too scared. Remember the old fashioned mouse trap with the spring action clamp; I felt as if my heart had stumbled into one; it couldn't pump; I couldn't breath.

She is the sister I am closest to. There were seven of us siblings; we were raised in three different foster homes. The sister, that was in the same foster home as I, committed suicide in her early thirties. Hmmm another story, another time.

I had to call my sister the following day with pad and pen ready to take notes. I told her, I didn't hear anything beyond the word "cancer" so, " please repeat back to me her regiment of treatments so I could be sure to pray and send lots of healing energy her way.

On a deeper level, I'm terrified of losing her.

I talked to my sister this morning and she's sounding great. Her voice has returned and I could hear and feel her energy is up. She's laughing and telling stories. I am looking forward to going to Connecticut next month and being with her.

July 11, 2006

Title: Jennifer Lauck's Writing Workshop
On June 23, 24, 25th

About a month before this writing workshop I was scrolling through the Healing Waters and Sacred Spaces website and my attention was roped in by this writing workshop by Jennifer Lauck. I had never heard of her or of her book, "Blackbird" before. I clicked on her website and read snippets of her story, some of her blogs; I had never even heard of the word blog, didn't know what a blog was. What I did know, was, as I read Jennifer's material on her website, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I devoured her words, and as I read my heart pounded loudly in my chest; I felt it racing. My eyes teared up; there was a joyous leap inside me. I knew this was where I was meant to be. I knew I had found a haven.

I signed up for the writing class early to be assured a spot, however, the chatterer inside me kept rattling me with questions like:
"How can YOU justify spending THAT much money on yourself?"
"How do you know you'll like this woman?"
"How do you know you'll like the people you'll be stuck with for a whole long weekend?"
"How do you know these people will like you?"

All I could say was, "This is an investment in myself."

Oh, what an investment! It has returned a thousand percent more back to me! Somehow, I feel more alive, more in attunement with myself and my environment. My perception is heightened. I hear and see the children in the preschool on a deeper level. I hear the words not adequately expressed in their vocabulary and help them to speak their feeling or to understand it. In their eyes I see the reflection, "I was heard!" or the veil of uncertainty is lifted and the light of understanding shines through from the eyes, in the smile and in the giggles.

This deeper level of communication carried over into my adult relationships. Those I had difficulty communicating with before were looked at with new eyes. "What were the unspoken word between spoken words?" I asked myself.

"Oh, are you saying______________?" I would ask. The look of relief that crossed their face; their smile spoke volumes.

As I listened to the people that came to the workshop I felt as if something shifted inside me that opened me up to a higher level of understanding, of our oneness, our wholeness.

What sort of people were at this workshop? People, humans who were willing to let their guard down and help create a safe space to "present" the real self, in both its fraility and its majestic self. We learned more about writing. We learned how to be more expressive, so that the reader is brought into the visual or feeling context of the words. We shared our writings, our stories, our laughter, our tears, our meals, our lives; we were so supported by one another. There was no judgement. We were struck by how much more we shared in common than our differances.

What was Jennifer Lauck like? She is a woman that manfests great strength and courage. She wrote a best seller, "Blackbird," was on the Oprah show and yet, was so grounded in spite of her accomplishments. Literally she took us all under her wing and so graciously gifted us with her presence...presents of wisdom and hospitality.

With Jennifer Lauck was her assistant, Carrie Link. Carrie helped to create a room that was warm and inviting to enter. Incense burning, candles, crystals, and tapastry cloths were all arranged to create an aesthetic feeling for the senses and promote peacefulness. Carrie was so helpful in so many ways and she is instrumental in starting me blogging.

I feel so incredibly blessed to have had the opportunity to be here with this group of people this particular weekend. When one throws a pebble into a pond, one is famililar with the circular ripples the pebble makes as it hits the water. The pebbles that were thrown into the pond at this workshop will create deep ripples into my life and will bring changes for my better growth and development. Those who know me, Just Watch!

Oh my gosh, it's almost 2:00a.m.; I have children arriving at 6:30a.m. I absolutely delight in these hours for writing...there are no interruptions! However, seldom am I awake to write at this time.

Namaste

Hi Everyone,

This is my new blog address for my personal blogs about things going on in and around me. The Learning Lollipops "blog" will be strickly for recording and posting pictures for my preschool families. Of course, all are welcome to "peek" into the classroom at anytime; however, this is MY site for my personal thoughts and feelings. Those of you that read about the problems I was having "blogging" in my Learning Lollipops "blog" can appreciate with me my accomplishmen.

Chocolate

Aaaaaaaaah, chocolate
Rich, dark chocolate
Semi sweet chocolate
Chocolate with peanuts
Chocolate with almonds
Mmmmmmmmmm.

Drug of choice
Melting in mouth
Tongue clothed in sweetness
I hold it.
Salvia forming paste
I savor it.

Mmm warmth like being wrapped in moist heat
Comfort like in being heard
Safety, as in being held
Celebration, celebrating the value of me
Stimulation, dancing with joy
Sedation, holding feelings at bay
Numbness, feeling nothing
No Thing.
I want more
I crave more
I need more!

I cry for more
Gimmie more
I need more.

More
More
More.


I wrote this poem while attending a writing class. I was literally in a sinkhole and I felt myself falling, falling, falling. This poem helped me discover the pattern of my distructive behavior. It was so clear; it was so...right there...inside me. Since, I have been gentle with myself and I have asked myself:
"What's going on right now?"
What ever comes up, I am present with it.
I have learned to hold it in a compassionate gaze.
I have learned when judgement comes up
I simply say, "Thank-You."
I have learned when immobolizing fear
Seems to have me in its grip
I say, "Thank-You."
I am reminded of a title of a book...
I never read, the title said it all.
"Feel the fear and do it anyway."
It's too simple isn't it?
Yet, it works!
I see it dissipating into the air
Leaving me with snippets of wisdom.
A new way of viewing,
A new point of view; viewpoint changed!
YES!